Let me start off by saying that my dreams are weird. Sometimes they’re terrifying (I’ve had one about a school shooting even though I don’t live in the US), sometimes they’re pleasant (Robert Downey Jr visited my house, but I was in pyjamas).

I can remember the dream I had last night, but it was more on the bland and confusing side so I’ll tell you about a dream- no, a nightmare- that I had a few weeks ago that will give you proper insight into my subconscious. It was probably a stress dream. I’m used to them, even though I don’t enjoy them. I’m an anxious person.

Some details are hazy but I remember that I was travelling. Looking for my friend. He’d run off to be a correspondent in a war zone. I was determined to bring him home. It was a desert country, but green in areas. A patchwork of places I recognised. My school, a cafe, a park, and others. But then again, that’s what most of the locations in my dream are.

My family was on my tail- they wanted me to stop chasing and come home. I was at a road stop. It was a tourist destination as well as a gas station. There was a beautiful old church, and I went to hide out in it for refuge. Something told me that I would be safe there even though I’m not Christian.

I walked into the church (which seemed to shift and change before my eyes) and sat in the pews a few rows from the front. My friend was there! I cried when I saw him and told him how he’d scared me and I wanted him to come home. He hugged me and kissed me (definite hint at dreamland!)- then disappeared.

It seemed I’d travelled back in time, to before he got to this church. I walked to the front pews, and sat down. There was a nun at the front chanting and swinging a censor in front of a dark wooden statue. I couldn’t make out what the statue was. I had an ominous feeling. Suddenly my friend was beside me. I didn’t look at him. I don’t know why.

Even though I don’t speak Latin, I knew the nun was chanting in Latin. To impress my friend, and for some other reason beyond my control, I joined the chanting. I couldn’t understand what I was saying. I thought that would be the freakiest part. I was wrong.

As I chanted, heavy red curtains at the front of the church fell down: revealing women hanging from the ceiling. I started to tear up and felt panicky. Some of them weren’t even dead yet. It appeared as though I was the only one bothered by this. I knew it was connected to what the nun was doing, but not how.

The freakiest part? I touched my neck. There were bruises and a cut, as if I had been hung as well.